


throw your arms around the world (it's christmas time)

by emorosadiaz



Series: 12 Days of Starmora 2017 [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 12 Days of Starmora, Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 01:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12924228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emorosadiaz/pseuds/emorosadiaz
Summary: He hums along to the last few bars of the song, bopping his foot against the arm of the couch opposite Gamora to the beat. Her fingers suddenly find his hair, carding through it gently, and Peter stops and realizes—“Hey,” he says, “did you have any big holidays like that on your home planet?”





	throw your arms around the world (it's christmas time)

**Author's Note:**

> HO HO HOLD ME BC IT'S 12 DAYS OF STARMORA MY DUDE here is day 1: tradition

12 Days of Starmora, Day 1: Tradition

* * *

_It’s Christmastime, there’s no need to be afraid…  
_

Peter’s eyes snap open at the lyrics. Strangely, Gamora’s _feet_ are what he sees first, and with a few more blinks, the rest of the world around him come into focus, as he registers Gamora’s thigh under his cheek.

He blinks again, mouth dry and a long forgotten song filling his ears. He turns his head until his face is pointed upward, where Gamora is reading something on her holo above him.

“Band Aid,” he croaks, voice thick with sleep.

Gamora pauses, holds her holo to the side, and looks down at him. “Band-Aid?”

“No, no. _Band_. _Aid_. With a space.”

“ _Band-Aid_ with a hyphen sounds no different.”

“The _song_ ,” he says, turning back toward Gamora’s feet and the small table they’re resting on. He grabs the Zune, fingers fumbling through sleep as he raises the volume. “I haven’t heard this song since I was a _kid_.”

When he looks back up at Gamora, she’s turned off the holo and set it down on the arm of the couch. She looks at him, then the Zune, then him again.

“This song was made by this group called Band Aid, which was basically made up of some of the really popular singers and bands back when I was a kid.” He sets the Zune down on his chest. “They made this song for Christmas to raise money for poor people, I think?”

 “What’s…” she pauses, her nose scrunching up ever-so-slightly in that curious Gamora-way, “ _Christmas?_ ”

“Oh, _Gamora_ ,” he says with a sigh, weaving his fingers together over his midsection, “it was this _huge_ holiday we’d celebrate in the winter. I think I’ve mentioned it before? Anyway, we’d always get out of school, and there’d be snow, and we’d get a Christmas tree—a pine tree, basically—and my mom and grandpa would put it up in the living room, and then there’s presents—always the best part. You give presents to the people you love and spend time with your family.”

“That sounds lovely,” Gamora says, smiling. “I’m sure you have many fond memories.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I miss it sometimes, just getting to celebrate the random Earth holidays with my mom. Christmas was always the biggest one. Oh, and then this guy named Santa Claus visits every child in the world and leaves presents for them under the tree…though now I’m not so sure about how real that was.”

“I remember you telling me _that_ part,” she says, a tone of familiarity and recognition in her voice. “It was legal for him to break into everyone’s houses?”

“He’s _Santa_ ,” Peter _huffs_. “It’s _different_.”

He hums along to the last few bars of the song, bopping his foot against the arm of the couch opposite Gamora to the beat. Her fingers suddenly find his hair, carding through it gently, and Peter stops and realizes—

“Hey,” he says, “did you have any big holidays like that on your home planet?”

Her fingers pause. The song fades out.

“We had…some,” she says slowly. He unclasps his fingers from each other to turn the Zune back down, quickly setting it back on the table. “We had a very important holiday in the winter as well, though it was not exactly like your Christmas.”

Peter pushes himself up from her lap to sit properly beside her, crossing his legs beside hers. He pulls a blanket down from the back of the couch to drape it over them. Gamora smiles at the gesture, hands settling with his over their legs.

“Tell me about it?” he says.

Her smile remains. She ducks her head slightly, eyes on their fingers. “We called it the Day of Hearts. I don’t remember much of it, since I was just a child, but it was about expressing your care for your loved ones, especially your family.”

She meets his eyes again. “It was based on this legend about an ancient warrior, who wished to wield a great weapon—a very powerful sword, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Is that why you like swords so much?” he can’t help but ask, eyebrow raised, but she just rolls her eyes.

“The key to wielding this weapon was love,” she continues. “The warrior was only able to harness its power once drawing upon the strength she’d gained from her loved ones. I can’t remember all of the more specific traditions we’d practice every year, but I just remember spending the entire day with my family and closest friends…it was a day for warmth, which is why we would celebrate during winter.”

“Gamora, that’s so cool,” Peter says. “It sounds even better than Christmas.”

She laughs a little. “They sound like very similar holidays, even if their origins are different. And there are no break-ins for the Day of Hearts.”

He groans. “It’s _Santa_.”

“My people had a generally lower crime rate than other species,” she admits. “They were very peaceful overall, very joyous.”

“’They’?”

“ _We_ ,” she corrects quietly, accompanied by a small, soft sigh. “We were…peaceful.”

“For what it’s worth,” Peter says, “aside from the stabby-stabby vibes you gave off when we first met, you are definitely one of the most…” he pauses, searching for the word, “ _tranquil_ people I’ve ever met.”

“That’s a big word for you. I’m proud.”

“ _Babe_ ,” he laughs out. She laughs, too, and he throws himself on top of her, the blanket tangling further between them in his revenge. Their laughter only increases as Peter narrowly avoids sending them spiraling to the floor, Gamora pulling him back just in time.

“Seriously, though,” he manages through giggles, “you’re more fun than I think you realize.”

“Out of the many things I’ve been called, ‘fun’ is not one of them.”

Despite the somber implications of her words, Gamora’s eyes are as bright as ever. Peter presses a quick kiss to her forehead.

“I only love fun people,” he insists.

“I love you, too.”

“Because I’m fun, right?”

“Mm…” Gamora presses her lips together. “Debatable.”

“Why did I teach you sarcasm?” Peter groans, dropping his head to her shoulder. “The student has become the master…”

“Perhaps I was never the student.” She rests her head against his. “Do you miss your Christmas?”

“Of course,” he says. “Do you miss your Day of Hearts?”

“I miss my family,” she says with a sigh.

“Me, too.” He wraps his arms around her. “At least we have each other now. And our new family. We should celebrate both our holidays sometime. Together. They’re similar enough.”

She nods, raising her head to look down at him, her lips curved upward in her penchant _sensitive_ smile as Peter’s come to call it, when she’s sad, but also happy, because they both had to lose everything to win this, these moments, _each other_. He returns the expression, his heart _still_ managing to skip a beat despite how long they’ve been together, in this position before.

“You already warm my heart every day,” Gamora says, softly, almost _shyly_ , because cheesy sentiment isn’t really her thing.

And thinking back to Gamora’s story about the Day of Hearts—a warrior who finds the strength to fight in the ones she loves, who love her back—Peter’s smile deepens, something even tickles his eyes _just_ a bit, and he presses himself closer to her.

“Yeah. Everyday feels like Christmas with you, too.”

It’s moments like these where, Peter thinks, maybe losing everything as a child wasn’t the worst thing, of all potential horrible, bad things to happen, because somehow the grief train deposited him _here_ , in this moment, in Gamora’s arms, where he gets to watch mischief flicker into her eyes as her heartfelt smile morphs into a smirk.

“It feels like an old man breaking into your home?”

Gamora, deadliest woman in the galaxy, destroyer of _moments_.

“I changed my mind, I hate you,” he mutters, but she’s laughing at him again. “You make it feel like I just got _coal_ for Christmas every day.”

To prove his point, he sprawls out over her again, resting his head on her chest with a very profound and eloquent, “ _Hmph_ ,” but she just wraps her arms around him, accepting.

(Yeah, okay, maybe _some_ things are better than Christmas, and maybe being with Gamora is one of those things.)

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so i guess that was mostly just some fluff and exposition but????? i wanna use gamora's holiday for future fics in this series so stay tuneddddd ;)))) 
> 
> don't forget to like, comment, & subscribe  
> click that notification bell
> 
> also CHRISTMASSSSSS HYYYYPPPPEEEEE


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